


Father of the Bride

by jumpinjulianofnorwich



Category: Call the Midwife
Genre: F/F, Father-Daughter Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-14
Updated: 2016-07-14
Packaged: 2018-07-23 22:24:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7482261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jumpinjulianofnorwich/pseuds/jumpinjulianofnorwich
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Patsy has gotten used to the lack of emotional openness she has with her father, but when he shows up unexpectedly at Nonnatus will Patsy be able to handle the surprises that he has in store for her?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this primarily out of a desire to explore Patsy's father a little bit more. I noticed that in most interpretations they're usually estranged and I thought it would be interesting to see how, if they do have a relationship, he might react to Patsy's sexuality, how Patsy sees him, and how he might see Delia. Hope you enjoy!

A dark blue cab pulled up to Nonnatus just as Sister Mary Cynthia locked her bike in the shed. A man stepped out, carrying a thin brown package and light briefcase. He paid the cabby and stood in front of the house, looking at it in the early twilight as if evaluating it for sale.  
Well-dressed men were not an unusual sight in Poplar, however well-dressed men in expensive suits were. And, Sister Mary Cynthia thought, even a nun could tell he was wearing a very expensive suit. It was deep blue and impeccably pressed and fitted, giving the tall older man a commanding air. He caught sight of the nun and walked toward her. 

“Excuse me…sister,” he said “would I be correct in thinking this is Nonnatus House?”  
“Yes,” the nun replied “are you in need of a midwife?”

The man cracked a smile. “Well one specifically. I’m here to visit my daughter.”

“Oh,” she replied. “I didn’t realize that anyone had family coming.” 

“Well it’s a bit of a surprise visit. An old man like me needs to surprise his child every now and again. It keeps her on her toes.” 

“Ah,” Sister Mary Cynthia said uncertainly. “I’m sorry but whose father are you?"

“Guess,” he said. 

Sister Mary Cynthia looked him over. His hair was graying at the roots, but the top was still blonde, suggesting Trixie. However she doubted Trixie’s father would have been able to afford a suit like the one he was wearing (or be interested in visiting since they were estranged.) Barbara’s shrewd priest of a father also seemed unlikely. He didn’t speak with a Welsh accent so she doubted he was Delia’s. She looked him up and down, taking in his stocky frame and long face. 

“Do I have the pleasure of addressing Mr. Mount?” she asked. 

“There you go,” he said cheerfully. 

“A pleasure to meet you, I’m Sister Mary Cynthia.”

“Oh the one who joined the order last year, yes Patience has talked of you.” 

“May I show you inside?” The older man slowly followed the nun up the stairs, taking in the house’s every detail as he did. 

The duo met Sister Monica Joan in the hall, placing a bushel of lavender in one of the vases. “Sister Monica Joan, this is Mr. Mount, Nurse Mount’s father.”  
“The illustrious and wise Sister Monica Joan,” he said. “Is that lavender yours? Patsy says your gardening skills are…thoroughly used.”

“Indeed they are mine,” she said with a smile. “I find lavender to be especially suitable for days after rain to keep dust from collecting.” As the two talked Sister Mary Cynthia left to make some tea, and asked Mrs. B if an extra spot could be prepared for dinner. When she returned she found Sister Monica Joan, Sister Julienne, and Mr. Mount talking in the sitting room. 

“Oh Sister Mary Cynthia,” Sister Julienne said “Could you ask Mrs. B if…”

“Already done. Mr. Mount we would love if you could stay with us for dinner tonight. Our spread is somewhat modest but Mrs. B is truly a phenomenal cook.” Mr. Mount grinned. 

“I would love to,” he said. 

After Sister Julienne went back to her office, Sister Mary Cynthia and Sister Monica Joan sat with Patsy’s father in the living room, thoroughly engaged by his questions about the house. Mr. Mount, Sister Mary Cynthia noticed, was much more expressive and candid than his daughter. However their senses of humor were similar, and it was easy to see Patsy in his wry smile. As Barbara, Nurse Crane, and Sister Winnifred returned from the clinic he greeted each warmly. He was prepared with facts about them all, apparently having paid close attention to Patsy’s description of her work. He was incredibly charming, Sister Mary Cynthia observed. It seemed strange that Patsy had not talked of him as much as she had apparently talked of them. 

Delia returned from her shift from the London just before dinner, somewhat startled by the group that had gathered in the living room. “I didn’t realize we were having a guest.”

“Oh Delia,” Sister Winnifred said excitedly “This is Mr. Mount, Patsy’s father. He’s in town on business and thought he’d stop by for dinner.”

Delia’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Patsy didn’t tell me you’d be coming to Nonnatus. I thought you were just getting dinner after her rounds tomorrow.”

Mr. Mount shrugged. “My appointment today ended earlier than expected. And I wanted to see the old place, Patsy talks so much of it. I feel like I’ve been here a thousand times before.” He looked at Delia quizzically. “And who would you be? If I’m not mistaken that’s not a midwife’s uniform.”

“I’m Nurse Busby. I live here but I work at the London.”

“Huh,” the old man said in a perplexed tone, evaluating the stodgy nurse before him. “I didn’t realize Nonnatus was hosting a nurse from the London. Or that you had a nurse from…Wales, is it?” Delia immediately bristled. She had heard too many fancily dressed Englishmen say ‘Wales’ in that tone that it immediately made her defensive. 

Sister Mary Cynthia’s perplexed expression matched Delia’s. Mr. Mount had been able to recognize every other nurse so far, but knew nothing of Delia despite how close she was with Patsy (and that they had lived together, however briefly.) As the conversation continued, and Mr. Mount harped on the positive impression he had received from his daughter about everyone else, this difference became apparent to the nurse as well. Though she knew how private Patsy was, especially when it came to her, the difference was upsetting.

Patsy and Trixie were the last to return from their rounds. “It’s nearly 7,” Patsy said as they walked in “why aren’t you all at-“ she stopped midsentence when she saw her father. The image shocked her, the regal looking old man holding court among the midwives and nurses as he might among his shipping partners. 

“Hello Patience,” he said smiling brightly. “Surprise.” 

“Papa,” she said uncertainly moving over to him. He stood up to hug her, though such an expression of affection felt thoroughly strange to her. Being in public with her father was always a little bit unsettling. “I thought I was seeing you tomorrow.”

“My schedule freed up and I thought I’d stop by. Lovely place. They were nice enough to invite me for dinner if you don’t mind your old man embarrassing you some.”

“I think I’ll manage,” she replied, trying to make the remark sound like a joke.

“You always do.” 

As Patsy introduced her father to Trixie (barely necessary as he seemed to remember everything Patsy had mentioned about her as well) they all shuffled into the dining room where Sister Julienne was waiting. 

“Ah sister,” Mr. Mount said, handing Sister Julienne the brown paper parcel he had brought. “I thought I would present you with a gift for putting up with my headstrong daughter these past two years. You may want to open it before dinner.”

“I assure you Mr. Mount, Patsy is joy to have, and her headstrongness is an asset in this line of work. But we appreciate your generosity.” She took the parcel and immediately frowned upon feeling its shape. 

“Mr. Mount, is this alcohol?” Patsy tensed. 

“Yes,” he said “Scotch from my own collection.” Sister Julienne smiled coldly.

“While your generosity is appreciated I’m afraid as a nun I cannot serve nor accept this gift.” 

“Oh of course how foolish of me. Well perhaps you secular midwives can share it amongst yourselves later.” Trixie shot Patsy a pointed look that made the redhead squirm even more than her father’s faux pas had. 

“I’m afraid the midwives can’t keep alcohol in their rooms” Sister Julienne said firmly. “While your kindness is appreciated I’m afraid we must all decline.” Mr. Mount acquiesced, but winked at his daughter as they all sat down.

Though her father handled himself admirably among the nuns and midwives, Patsy never quite recovered from the shock of seeing him comfortably talking in her home as if it was his, or from the Scotch mistake. Mr. Mount however did not need his daughter’s support to charm his way among her friends. He chatted with Nurse Crane about Spanish music, talked with Barbara about the working conditions faced by shipworkers, and even managed to warm Trixie back up to him with tales of his co-merchants’ highly fashionable daughters. In addition to Patsy the only two who seemed uneasy were Sister Mary Cynthia, who eyed him with a curious look, and Delia whom he seemed utterly uninterested in. Delia noticed the smirk that came across his face when Barbara asked after her family and when Delia asked Patsy about her day. Furthermore his presence seemed to set Patsy on edge-the redhead became withdrawn and cool as she normally did when she was upset or uncomfortable. 

Dinner went well enough, with Mr. Mount able to coax ready smiles out of even Sister Julienne and nurse Crane. As they were cleaning up he went to call a cab. “Wait with me outside Pats,” he said. It was not phrased as a question. Delia gritted her teeth, irrationally annoyed that someone would use the nickname on Patsy even if it was her father. Patsy said nothing and followed him to the stoop. As the two sat outside he lit a cigarette, offering her one.

“I’m quitting actually.” 

He made a tutting noise. “Silly girl, I raised you better than that.” She sighed heavily. 

“So what was this all about?”

“What was what?” She glared at him. Expressive and loquacious a few minutes before he all of a sudden seemed very uninterested in talking.

“That. Dinner.”

“I thought it would be nice.”

“You should have warned me.”

“What was there to warn you about? I’m your father not a cabal of Russian spies. Besides they all seem nice enough. I’m not sure the Welsh girl likes me though.”  
Patsy shook her head. If she ever intended her father to meet Delia she had not imagined it would be this…abrupt. She at least had gotten a warning about Delia’s mother. “How was your appointment today?” she asked. 

He took a long drag on his cigarette. “We’ll discuss it tomorrow. I trust you’re still willing to associate with me in public.”

“Of course. Although I’m not sure what you were thinking bringing Scotch to a convent.”

He smiled at her. “You didn’t think it was funny?”

“Not when the offended nun is my supervisor. Or when one of my friends is a…” she stopped herself. “Is just quitting drinking.”

“Who was that-the blonde one? That explains why she looked daggers at you when I offered. Honestly my girl, how do you ever have any fun in that place?”

“I have plenty of fun thanks.”

“Not enough to get you a boyfriend though.” Patsy said nothing.

A yellow cab pulled up to the house. “Well, thank you for indulging me Patience,” her father said stepping up to the car. “It was appreciated. I look forward to discussing matters more with you tomorrow.” Patsy watched the car drive off, puzzling over her father’s strangely businesslike reply.

When she stepped back into the hall it was all she could do to keep from collapsing against the door. Instead she walked into the kitchen where Sister Mary Cynthia, the first one on call, was washing dishes. 

“Are you all right?” she said, noting the midwife’s drained expression. 

“Of course. Just…you know how family is. They demand a lot of you.” Sister Mary Cynthia smiled sympathetically. 

“He seemed a little demanding,” she admitted. “I’m surprised he didn’t let you know he was coming in advance.”

“Well, when you manage the shipping affairs of Britain’s main exporters you get in the habit of demanding peoples’ time.” She studied the nun curiously. “I’m surprised to hear you say that though. Normally everyone loves him.”

Sister Mary Cynthia idly wiped a dish. “You know,” she said “I’m not sure Delia did.” Patsy let out a groan and hung her head. 

“Why can’t your family members just…show up when you want them to, ask how you are, and then go on their merry way?”

“He seems to care about you quite a lot,” Sister Mary Cynthia said evenly. “Although if family really bothers you that much it’s never too late to join the order.” Patsy smiled wryly at her. 

“Hand me a dish. I expect cleaning will do more for me than religious vows.”


	2. Chapter 2

The restaurant her father had requested for dinner had a lavish bar, and reeked of cigarette smoke. Patsy couldn’t help but be amused at the contrast between it and the tearoom where she had met Delia’s mother. Patsy was even dressed differently-she had opted for gray slacks and a green coat cut almost like a man’s so as not to feel as out of place with the restaurant’s very masculine clientele (not that it helped-she felt what could only be described as a male gaze drilling into her back from the time she walked in to the time she sat down.) She spotted her father in a corner, smoking a cigarette and reading the paper with a decanter of port already open next to two glasses. 

One of the consequences, Patsy often though, of the prison camp was that it had stolen her childhood from her in more ways than one. Even in her preteen years, after she was released, her father never treated her as a child. Maybe it was a result of him sending her off to boarding school and being relatively removed from her more awkward developmental years, but he seemed to have no interest in treating her as anything other than a younger, female, version of his own friends. It was sometimes refreshing-as rarely did men take her as seriously as her father did. But it also meant that he frequently was not aware of just what effect his actions had on her emotionally, expecting her to react as a man over fifty and not a woman in her twenties. 

As they ate he asked her about her life in a very businesslike way, as he always did. His intelligent hazel eyes stayed carefully fixed away from his daughter’s face, and she noticed that he deflected her whenever she tried to ask about the previous day. Finally, as they were almost done with dinner he stated, matter-of-factly “You didn’t say anything when I brought up boyfriends yesterday.”

“I don’t have one if that’s what you’re asking.”

“I wasn't,” he said, in a way that Patsy knew he would not believe her if she said she did. “I was just thinking…you’ve stayed in that house for longer than you’ve stayed anywhere.”

“That’s not true,” she said. “You remember I moved into a flat last year with one of the nurses from the condemned nursing home?” Her explanation rolled off of her tongue quickly-the vagueness of it had been well rehearsed from when she had explained the move to her father.

He looked at her skeptically. “You were in and out of there barely a week after signing the lease. But no I was just thinking one minute you’re in nursing school, then you move from nursing home to nursing home, then you’re all set to work for some florist, and now you’ve lived under the same roof for almost three years. It’s a new record for you and” he said with a disdainful expression “with nuns no less.”

Patsy gritted her teeth. She loved her father but he was truly an aggravating man. She had been tense all through last night’s dinner, sensing that he was being the charming version of himself he typically was with clients and coworkers. The type of person he was when he wanted to be liked. When he wanted people to tell him things. Alone he was as guarded as Patsy, unwilling to show emotion if he thought it would hurt him. She tried to be kind. She knew that, even if he had not been in the camp himself, he had lost a wife and daughter those years ago and that had certainly impacted how he engaged with the rest of the world, including her. But the least he could do was show a level of sensitivity towards her, and the way he looked at her with a combination of amusement and interest suggested he was not bringing this information up because he was being emotionally sensitive.

“Has it occurred to you that I’ve stayed at Nonnatus so long because I like it there?” she asked.

“Of course,” her father said pouring port into her glass. “But I think there might be a bit more to it than that. So. Which one is it?”

Patsy furrowed her brow. “What?” she asked. 

Her father smiled unpleasantly in the same way he always did when he thought she was being evasive. “The vicar’s daughter looks at you with a certain amount of reverence, though after your days in boarding school I thought you’d avoid Christian girls like the plague.” Patsy blushed crimson and struggled to hide her outrage.

“The blonde girl…Trixie…she’s very charming and pretty and you two seem close. I like her, although you say she doesn’t drink. Very passionate and sexy, I can see why you’d go for her” He took a swig of port. Patsy gave no response, too overcome with shock at her father’s frank behavior. “Oh Pats-don’t tell me you’re involved with one of the nuns?”

“Father what has gotten into you,” she said with gritted teeth. He sighed, sitting back in his chair and staring at her disapprovingly.

“It’s that little Welsh girl isn’t it?” 

“Oh fuck off,” Patsy hissed at him, her face now a deep crimson. He grimaced and nodded. 

“There it is. You wouldn’t tell your old man to fuck off over just anyone. You’d never mentioned her before, that should have been the tip off.”

“Tip off to what exactly?” Patsy said carefully though she couldn’t ignore his meaning.

“Come on, give your old man some credit. I mean, I should have caught on after those remarks from the nuns at your boarding school. ‘Patience is a delight to teach and benefits from a lack of silliness regarding romantic affairs.’” He couldn’t help but smile at the high pitched voice he adopted to mimic the comments. “But you’ve never once brought up a boy, never once mentioned a wedding, never once even smiled at a man who smiled at you.”

“Because most of the men who smiled at me were your lousy business associates and pigheaded doctors!”

“Fair,” he said “but still I’m not daft. I know not everyone appreciates the company of the opposite sex. Although I thought you’d have better taste than some Welsh country girl.” 

Patsy sat back in her chair, processing everything her father was saying to her. She had always been so careful, so sure he never suspected. Now she was realizing he had suspected for years and simply never said anything. Which was strange as her father was never hesitant about voicing disapproval. 

“I don’t…” she said trying to sound calm “I don’t like you…looking down your nose at Delia like that.”

“Patience I’m your father. It’s my job to look down your nose at anyone you choose to…involve yourself with.”

“Well don’t do it because she’s from the country or because she’s Welsh. No one likes it when you’re being a snob.”

“Fine then I will do it because she’s short and looks like a strong breeze would knock her over.”

Patsy eyed her father ruefully. “You’ve never seen her when she’s angry. She’s legendary among the doctors at the London. Actually, you would probably enjoy angry Delia.”

“Would I?”

Patsy shrugged eyeing her father as if he were some sort of predatory cat. “Maybe. It would be fun to watch though. So. How do you feel about having a queer for a daughter?” She couldn’t help but speak defiantly. She had never referred to herself that way, except in angry conversations with Delia. Doing so now felt like an attack against her father, and he seemed to be treating this, much to her shock, as a game. She wanted desperately to elicit anything resembling a serious reaction from him. 

Her father winced. “Please, I would never use such language. And I’m not going to disown you if that’s what you’re worried about. I’m mean I’m not thrilled certainly.”  
Patsy cocked an eyebrow. Her father sighed and twirled the port in his glass. All of a sudden, in the restaurant’s soft lighting, he looked exhausted. Exhausted and sad and strangely weak. Patsy had only seen him like that on a few occasions, and the shock of seeing her normally charismatic father looking drained was worse than seeing him charming her friends. 

“I almost lost you once Pats. I’m not going to actually lose you over something so silly.” Her father’s genuine show of emotion was enough to startle both of them. They went silent, fiddling absently with their food and refusing to meet each other’s eyes. 

“Why bring this all up now?” Patsy finally asked. 

“Oh that,” her father said in a dry tone. “Well you see Patience, I’m dying.” 

Patsy dropped her glass, spilling port across the table cloth.

“Yes,” he said matter-of-factly as he lit a cigarette. “Got the diagnosis at the doctor’s yesterday. Lung cancer. I’ve got a few years left, but still, probably for the best that you lay off these little death sentences.” He put the cigarette in his mouth.

Speechless Patsy started furiously wiping up the port with her napkin, as if the action would somehow jump start her brain back to thinking. 

“I-do you have a treatment plan in place? Are you staying in the house? What did you doctor-“ he held up a hand to stop her.

“I had quite enough of that yesterday if you don’t mind. I know you’re a nurse but yes Dr. Barton has some treatment ideas that mean I won’t totally disintegrate in the next few months.”

“Do they involve giving up cigarettes?”

“In an ideal world,” he said, putting his now stub out on the plate. 

Patsy bit her lip. “You know I…I could move in if it was necessary. We could both move into the house, or the flat you keep here in London. It wouldn’t be too much trouble to look after you.”

“Do you really want to trade living with your cute little Welsh girl for a sick old man? No I assure you if they want to transfer me to assisted living I’ll be more than happy to go. One less blasted thing I’d have to worry about. And we haven’t really lived under the same roof since you were thirteen, I hardly think that starting now would be beneficial to our relationship.”

Patsy nodded and looked at her hands. This couldn’t be happening could it? Her father had always been a constant, if distant part of her life. A source of, albeit aggravating, stability. Though it was easy to envision day to day life without him, it was hard to envision her life as a whole.

“Which brings me to legal matters,” he said finally. “Most of the wealth I’ve accrued has been tied up in the company, and you hardly seem interested in managing that. And I take it you’re not keen on keeping the house?” 

Patsy shuddered. They had a house in Keston but it was large, over an hour’s commute from the city, and full of unpleasant reminders of her mother and sister. She always hated coming home to it, preferring instead when they stayed in the flat her father kept in the city for business. 

“Still I have managed to tie up a not insignificant annual income for you. Coupled with your wages I’m sure it would be enough, more than enough, for you to eventually buy a flat somewhere in the city. As long as you’re not too extravagant.” He smiled at her. “Not that you’re ever extravagant. Of course you’d have more options if you had a…second income.” 

Patsy looked at him as if he were insane. “That’s what this is about? You’ve just found out you’re dying and your first thought is to make sure I’m provided for.”  
Her father looked at her indignantly. “It’s a perfectly understandable fatherly concern!”

“I know but Dad…you’ve never been worried about whether or not I could look after myself.”

“You survived a prison camp when you were nine! Forgive me for thinking not much else would phase you.” He pursed his lips. “Still can you blame me? I don’t like the thought of you being completely alone. And if this Delia keeps you from that I suppose I can deal with things working out not quite as I expected. Even if she is Welsh.” 

Patsy shook her head. There was still a lot they had to discuss, a lot that had to be talked through. And she knew it would be like pulling teeth to get him to do it. But she couldn’t ignore the fact that he knew. The one big secret she had kept from him he knew…and he was still treating her as he always treated her. It was obvious he didn’t want to really talk about it, that much was apparent and it stung. But there was always something he’d refuse to talk about, and it was evident he cared, cared enough that he wouldn’t mind helping make room for Delia in her future. That at least had to mean something. She supposed.

“I’m sorry I’m just a little surprised,” she said, as they waited for the check.

“Surprised about what?” he asked.

“I always assumed you’d want grandkids.”

He barked a laugh. “Patsy I was barely around for your childhood. Even if I cared about having a few youngsters with my genes running around, I hardly think I deserve them.” He looked down on the table cloth, drumming his fingers nervously. “Maybe you didn’t turn out exactly as I planned, or even hoped. But don’t think that between your career and…other circumstances that I’m ashamed you never settled down and started popping out babies. Well at least, popping out your own babies.”   
They remained silent as the waiter came and collected their bill. Despite her father’s insistence that he would pay for a cab, Patsy was resolute about taking the bus. Her father offered to wait with her and given the intensity of their earlier conversation she hardly felt able to decline.

“Can I say something else?” she asked after they had been standing silently for a minute.

“Always,” he replied seriously.

“You seemed so clever back there, thinking that you had my whole situation figured out. And I admit you were right about most of it, except one thing.” She clenched her fists, trying to fight back the wave of emotion that she still hadn’t quite been able to quell. “I didn’t stay in Nonnatus for Delia. Actually she’s the nurse I was…living with briefly, but she suffered an injury and her mother wouldn’t let her stay on her own.” She looked at her father stoically. “No, the reason I stayed at Nonnatus was exactly what I said. Because I like it there. Because, for the first time in my life, I’m at home somewhere.” Her father winced. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t do better.”

“Don’t be. Believe me in my line of work I’ve met enough fathers to know that there’s always a way you could have done better.”

“Still, maybe if I hadn’t mucked it up so much you’d be-“

“-interested in marrying a man?” she said sarcastically.

“Oh. Well maybe but honestly we’re a rotten lot Pats you’re better off without us. No what I meant to say is maybe you’d have been more willing to tell me about her. I do regret that, you know. That I didn’t make you feel like you could tell me.”

Patsy looked at him with a resigned expression. “The thing is I’m not sure you do. You could have been the best father in the world and I’m still sure you wouldn’t have wanted me to tell you. That’s just the way it is.” Her father did not argue. 

They were both relieved when the bus pulled up. It was unnatural for both of them to be so unrestrainedly open, and though they both now knew their relationship had to change neither was interested in acknowledging it. 

“You’ll let me know the next time you can make it down to Poplar?”

“Of course. And as I’m sure you’ve guessed I’ll be staying over in the city a lot more frequently.”

“Good,” she said. “And father…I’m sorry.”

He gave Patsy a sad smile. “Believe me my girl, I am too.”


	3. Chapter 3

It wasn’t until Patsy was inside Nonnatus and climbing the stairs to her room that she began to cry. The sobs rolled over her like a tidal wave, almost making her physically collapse on the stairs. She climbed them as hastily as she could, until she was standing outside her door. After a moment’s hesitation she continued down the hall to Delia’s room, not even knocking as she thrust the door open. 

The two girls stared at each other, equally shocked by the other’s appearance. Snot and tears was leaking from Patsy’s face and she was shaking almost uncontrollably. Delia sat languidly on her bed, eyes drooping. In one hand was a cup of Scotch, the nightstand holding the bottle her father had brought the night before. 

“Pats?” Delia slurred drowsily. “Wass a matter?” 

“You’re…drunk?” Patsy stammered between sobs. Delia shrugged and giggled. 

“Jus a little.” Patsy eyed the bottle. Not that much was gone, about two or three glasses’ worth. Enough that she might be tipsy, but that Delia, who rarely drank, would be pretty far gone. 

“You took this from my room,” she said picking it up. 

“You come into my room all the time,” Delia pointed out. 

“Why on earth would you be drinking alone?”

“You went out to see your da without me so I thought I’d drink some of ‘is Scotch.” Apparently this logic made perfect sense to Delia. Patsy took a deep breath trying to calm down. 

“But why?” she managed. 

Delia glared at her. “Maybe I should ask you why you didn’t tell your da about me.”

“For the same reason you didn’t tell your mother about me!” Delia shook her head violently.

“No I mean…why didn’ he…he didn’ even know who I was.” Delia’s expression changed from one of playfulness to a withdrawn pain that made Patsy’s heart ache even more. 

“Delia,” she pleaded “I didn’t trust myself to tell him about you. I knew if I did he’d be able to-“ she stopped herself choking back another sob. Patsy couldn’t remember the last time she had cried like this. Even during the typhoid outbreak the previous summer she had managed to restrain herself for the most part. But this, this was something new and strange and frightening.

Delia glared at her accusingly. “I think…you’re ashamed of me.” 

“Delia how could you-“ She gasped, trying and failing to maintain her composure. She made her way to the door, fiddling desperately with the lock. “I can’t…I can’t be here…not if you’re mad at me too…I can’t handle you hating me on top of all of this.” She tried to open the door, the outpouring of tears and her shaking body making it difficult. After a moment she felt soft hands leading her back to the bed, arms encompassing her so they pulled her clumsily down on top of Delia’s soft chest. Patsy clung to her, even though the smell of alcohol on Delia’s breath felt unfamiliar and angry. Sobs racked her body mercilessly, snot and tears running from her face onto Delia’s blouse. 

After what felt like an eternity they finally stopped. Patsy sat up wiping her nose with the sleeve of her coat. Wordlessly Delia reached across the bed and handed Patsy the tissues that sat on her nightstand. “Thanks,” she said quietly. 

“I’m not,” she continued, still trying to catch her breath, “I’m not ashamed of you, or of us. Never think that.” She took Delia’s hand. “Never never.”

Delia looked at her, her brown eyes glassy with Scotch. She wore the same sad expression she did whenever the secret nature of their relationship was discussed. “I think you muss be sometimes. You coulda had a nice educated Englishman and instead you have a…country bumpkin.” 

Patsy let out a bizarre noise between a laugh and a sniffle. “I’ve known too many nice educated Englishmen to want anything different.” She couldn’t help thinking of her father. Patsy leaned her head against Delia’s shoulder, taking in the feeling of being next to her girl. “Besides you don’t have to worry about it anymore. He figured it out. Everything”

Delia furrowed her brow, the alcohol keeping her from expressing real shock. “How did he…?” Delia asked drearily. 

“Because he’s a clever fucking man,” Patsy said, struggling to keep her voice restrained. Not clever enough to quit smoking though, she thought. Not clever enough to avoid scaring the living shit out of his daughter. Not clever enough to avoid dying.

Delia looked at her girlfriend with newfound concern. “Oh no Pats. Is that why you’re crying? Did he disown you? Did he hurt you?” Patsy smiled wryly. 

“No he took it brilliantly actually. Or as brilliantly as you can hope.” She left out his condescending remarks about Delia. No need to fuel the insecurities the booze had heightened. 

“Well that’s,” Delia said, a dreamy smile coming over her face. “Well isn’ that ‘lovely.” She frowned again on seeing Patsy’s grim, bleary eyed expression. “Isn’ it?”

Patsy bit her lip, unwilling to say the words out loud for the first time. Even saying them to Delia she was worried that in doing so they would create some irrevocable reality, that there would be a danger in acknowledging the truth. She wanted nothing more than to bury her face in Delia’s pillow and say nothing of it. To go to bed and wake up the next day and have her life go on as it once had. 

But the look of desperate concern on Delia’s face was enough to convince her that she had no other option. “He’s dying Deels,” she said, stony-faced. “He went to the doctor yesterday and they said he’s dying.”

“Oh my god,” she whispered. She grasped Patsy’s hand, rubbing her back as the two sat in silence. It wasn’t fair, Delia thought hazily. Patsy had already endured so much, and neither of them were prepared for this. They had spoken multiple times of what might happen should Delia’s father, who had a heart condition, get even sicker or die. What it would mean for their relationship, if she would go back to Wales, if she would quit nursing-but the idea of Patsy’s father, who seemed in Delia’s imagination as strong as his daughter, dying had never crossed their minds. 

“I’m sorry,” she finally said. “Both for that and for…” she nodded towards the bottle. “What are you going to do?”

“Whatever he’ll let me,” Patsy replied. 

“I’ll be here,” Delia said quietly. 

Delia held her in silence for a while, eventually nodding off under the influence of the alcohol. Patsy got up and went to her own room. She changed into a pair of pajamas, hid the now somewhat depleted bottle of scotch underneath her bed, made sure Trixie was fast asleep, and returned to Delia’s room. Wordlessly she slipped into the bed next to Delia and, after a moment’s hesitation, pulled her arm across her chest. Delia, roused, hugged the taller girl, knowing talking about it would be pointless. 

“I don’t want to feel like this anymore,” Patsy whispered in the dark. 

“I know Cariad,” Delia cooed. “And I promise you, if I have any say, one day you won’t.”


	4. Chapter 4

Mr. Mount did not return to Nonnatus until late summer, but this time he was expected. He came for tea on a sweltering Sunday sporting long sleeves and dress pants despite the heat- a futile attempt to hide the toll the cancer was already taking on his body. When Patsy greeted him at the door she had to steel herself against the fear that crept into her when she noticed his thinner form, heard his now frequent coughing. The only people she had told of his condition were Delia and Sister Julienne, in the event that she might unexpectedly have to go on leave in case complications occurred. Her father had insisted this was an unnecessary precaution, but Patsy had spoken to the nun anyway. She knew she would not be entirely prepared for what the next few years held, but she wanted to be as prepared as possible. Sister Julienne shot the younger woman an empathetic look as she welcomed her father. Patsy tried, and failed, to smile back. She knew she would have to tell the others sooner rather than later, but though she was grateful for the sentiment of support the nun showed her, she did not much care for the thought of the rest of the house greeting her with nothing but pained expressions. 

Her father soldiered on through tea admirably as he always did. As they both did. The visit went much the same as last time, her father charming sister and nurse alike, even prompting Patsy to smile once or twice. This was a high point, Patsy knew. Later it would be bitter arguments about when to take his pills, his gallows humor which bordered on callous, his aggravating stubbornness. Patsy had nearly caused a scene on the way from the London when she noticed a pack of cigarettes sticking out of his pocket. She was eternally thankful he had not taken her up on the offer of being his nurse. 

When Delia sat down he ignored her and she ignored him. His only acknowledgement of her came as they were clearing the dishes away when tea was finished. 

“Delia, I understand I am to congratulate you on receiving your midwife’s certification,” he said blandly. 

Delia looked at him surprised, then stared across the table at Patsy who was engaged in conversation with Barbara.

“Thank you sir,” she said. 

“I’m sure the house is pleased to have you,” he observed stoically. “Constant nurses are always in constant demand.” With that he went off to join Patsy and thank Sister Julienne again. He did not ask Patsy to wait with him for a cab this time, insisting that only one of them should have to endure the sweltering heat. 

Despite how exhausted Patsy was after her father left, Delia couldn’t help but bring up his strange comment when they were alone. Patsy rolled her eyes. “He says that sort of thing when he can’t stand to give a direct compliment. He said something similar when I got my nurse’s certificate-he was impressed that I had gone through with it, but also…annoyed.”

“Was he disappointed that you became a nurse rather than get married?” Delia asked, remembering her own parents’ reaction to her certification.

Patsy smiled. “No he thought I was aiming too low. He said I could have become a doctor if I’d wanted.” 

“Ah,” Delia said, though this was information that made Patsy’s father seem all the more foreign to her. “So does that mean he likes me?”

Patsy shrugged. “If you find out, do me a favor and tell me.” Delia smiled and looked her girl over. Patsy was undoubtedly worried and tired, but she had survived her father’s visit and was still maintaining the Patsy Mount composure Delia loved her for. There was a plan beginning to form itself in both of their minds, one that involved riding out the next few years in the community they had both come to love so much. It involved a flat once they had stowed away enough money to actually make it nice. It involved sick parents, and good friends, and long frightening nights with too many secrets for either of them to really be comfortable with. 

But it was something. And as Delia listened to Patsy calmly discuss the routine of treatments her father was now undergoing, trying quite ineffectively to hide her skepticism that he would follow them, Delia began to think it might be enough.


End file.
